


Soul for the Soulless

by Oriontario



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), It's mostly angst - Freeform, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-11
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-06-26 14:21:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19770040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oriontario/pseuds/Oriontario
Summary: A short piece written for a friend. Aziraphale has the unpleasantness of dealing with management while Crowley tries to pull himself together.





	1. Chapter 1

Aziraphale had a sinking dread in the pit of his stomach. The kind that burns holes in freshly shined shoes and leaves behind a stench of rubber in the room. It weighs you down and chains you to the floor, almost as if the depths of Hell itself were clawing at your ankles. It came on as suddenly as comfort does when sitting down with a suspiciously perfect cup of cocoa and a well-loved novel gifted by a friend (or a demon, preferably), but far, far less pleasant.

A glance around the bookstore did nothing to ease his fear. Neither did a peek in the spotless shelves or a flip through the Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter. As Aziraphale nudged toward a particular worn circular rug the feeling strengthened. Something was off about the portal to Heaven, much like something is off in day-old milk — not quite a visible problem, but not a good idea for those who wish to remain healthy at least a little longer. The angel sniffed, the air smelt of brimstone and hatred. Much unlike the fog of Crowley’s scent that drifted throughout the bookstore, that smelled much more like love (though Aziraphale would never mention it, the demon got a little touchy if Aziraphale had the audacity to insinuate the minuscule possible slightest chance of love).

Perhaps this feeling was just lingering from Armageddon’t-you-dare? In that case, Crowley should know what to do, Aziraphale justified as he dialed the number. However, he knew this was much much deeper and wasn’t too fond of the options.

“Crowley, hello my dear, if you have the time would you mind stopping by? I have something I’m a little... preoccupied with.” He tried to keep the slight tremor out of his voice, he didn’t want to make Crowley anxious, even if Aziraphale was terrified.

It only seemed to be a few seconds before the poor brakes of the Bentley screeched to a halt outside. The door slammed, and another opened, then shut as the demon rushed in. Crowley nearly recoiled at the aroma inside.

“Eugh” he muttered as he stuck out his tongue. The air tasted like maggots on the back of his throat with a generous helping of heavenly anger. And, no doubt, that was Aziraphale’s fear radiating off in waves. Crowley swallowed hard in an attempt to buy time to figure out the situation. “What happened here?”

Aziraphale shuddered, he had withdrawn to the couch and pulled his knees to his chest. “Haven’t the foggiest.” He had begun to develop a terrible headache that pounded at his temples, the evil surrounding him was far too much to bear. He wanted to shout “get out”, to scream, to sob, whatever it took to get the feeling of imps pounding hammers against his skull out.

Crowley noticed. He always did when Aziraphale was hurting. He slid his sunglasses down enough so he could see the angel clearly but not enough so the fear in his own were displayed. Crowley looked deep into Aziraphale's eyes. Eyes that were scared and worried and, God, he felt his heart skip for six thousand years every time those eyes skimmed his.

Aziraphale made to stand, to gesture, to do something to indicate the rug to Crowley but his voice and strength had left. He staggered from the couch and fell into the Crowley’s arms.

“Ohhhhh okay, let’s- let’s not try that.” He lowered Aziraphale, now weak and cold, back onto the couch. “What’s happened to you?”

Aziraphale’s mouth felt cottony and his tongue felt thick. He shook his head and tried to get up once more. “T-the por-“ his eyes rolled back and he collapsed onto the floor at Crowley’s feet.

“Angel!” The demon couldn’t help it from slipping out as he reached for Aziraphale and cradled him. Instinctively, dark wings materialized around the frail body, protecting him with their shimmering plumage.

Almost as if in response, the shell of Aziraphale began to shake. Wings of every size sprouted from his back, his arms, his head even. Eyes, dozens of them, grew from all over his skin, and they wept. They wept for the loss of a soul. Crowley took a step back and untangled himself from the body, the tears were cold and singed his own skin but they left no mark he could see. The wings wrapped themselves in a cocoon around their master and the angel was obscured from Crowley’s view in a flurry of feathers.

At this point, Crowley was struggling to keep himself together, too. Not out of some otherworldly threat, but of his own anger, his fury. Tears slid down his cheeks, puddling on the floor, they were red hot and smoked some as they hit the wooden panels. He was infuriated. Nothing hurt Aziraphale. Nothing. And nothing pushed the angel- his angel- to morph into a seraph to protect himself without going through Crowley first. He was enraged. And he was bringing a wrath to rival Hell with him.


	2. Chapter 2

Aziraphale awoke, free of pain, free of... anything, really. He felt empty. He was in Heaven, he assumed by the blinding white and was bound in shackles that were slightly too tight and cut into his wrists.

"Principality Aziraphale."

The angel inwardly groaned at the voice, as if this couldn't be any worse it had to be- "Gabriel," He said as he looked around to find the Archangel. "What is this? I thought it was high time to leave me alone." Aziraphale added what he hoped was a threatening note to his voice.

"Such an utter failure." As if the Cheshire Cat was an angel, Gabriel's smile materialized before the rest of him, standing before him. "We- I trusted you, Aziraphale. You let me down. You let all of us down. All for what? Did you feel that Crowley, a demon no less, cared for you? Don't kid yourself," he spat.

Aziraphale said nothing.

"Now, of course, I'd love to discorporate you or send you to Hell or something, however," his grin stretched impossibly wider, revealing an unsettling amount of teeth, "that's not my department." On cue, the floor beside Aziraphale began to fester, bubble, and pop. Lo and behold, Lord of Flies Prince of Hell Beelzebub rose from the muck with a peculiar sparkle in zir eye.

Still, Aziraphale said nothing.

Gabriel continued, "I'm going to leave you here for a bit with your, ah, company... Let you think about what you really want for the future." He turned on his heel on the tiled floor and promptly dissipated.

Now, Aziraphle figured he should say something but judged that the moment to do so had passed. Besides, he hadn't spoken yet, and Beelzebub wouldn't listen to him anyway.

Crowley, on the other hand, had decided that now was the perfect time to let loose any and all profanities he knew. He was trying not to look on the feathered mess that the angel had become and instead paced the bookstore in a rage. Scales had begun to flake and spread across his knuckles, down his arms, and near his temples. His jaw was clenched, and he eyed the portal to Heaven anxiously. Was it a good idea on his part to storm the gates of Heaven? Hell no. Was it an idea? Well, yes, and Crowley figured there was no other supernatural being than him to do the job. With that, Crowley tossed the keys to the Bentley next to the seraph, shed his jacket, rolled up his sleeves, and stepped into the radiant white circle as he embraced the caged hissing rattling from his teeth.

It was much more painful the second time, Crowley decided, as his scales seared and his wing feathers shook. It was also much more painful than that, he decided again upon arriving at Heaven, to see Aziraphale in the state he was. The angel's head hung low, and his eyes were closed. Ragged breaths escaped the hardly moving frame, tears slipped down to the tiles, and, as far as Crowley could see, there were only two eyes and no visible wings. It looked like Aziraphale in his typical form. 

Crowley found his voice weak and shaking, "A-Aziraphale?" His throat was too dry for anything but a whisper. The angel stirred but did not raise his head. There was no one around. Crowley had never been more utterly, utterly alone. It scared him. It shook him to his core that was softer than he'd admit. He stumbled forward to his chained angel and took his face in his hands. "Aziraphale..." He didn't need his voice to be loud this time. 

Aziraphale's eyes opened slightly, not enough to let Crowley see them, but enough to look him up and down. "Don't." He hissed in a harsh, crackling whisper. "Do whatever you want but don't do that. Do not impersonate him you foul coward." 

"No, no, angel it's me! What did they do to you?" Crowley's glasses were crushed in his palm now, "Please!" His voice cracked. "It's me!"

Something inside Aziraphale swung open, perhaps it was his heart, perhaps it was his logic, and he snapped his eyes fully open. "Crowley! It's you? How? How did-"

"I can answer later but please, we need to get away from here." The demon fumbled with the chains, hands bursting into flame as he melted them. He lifted Aziraphale to his feet and pulled him into a hug, crushing his face into Aziraphale's shoulder to hide any rogue tears.

Together, they defied Heaven and Hell once more, certainly not for the last time and fell backward through the clouds back to Earth, cradling one another in an embrace, afraid to let go again.


	3. Chapter 3

They landed in an ethereal blaze inside the bookshop. The sky outside was apprehensive, such as when a bottle of spilled ink still lays unnoticed. In a panicked flurry, Crowley tore himself apart from Aziraphale and swung his head towards where the seraph was last. Except... no seraph. He looked back, there was Aziraphale in the flesh.

Exhausted, he collapsed to his knees. "Angel... I'm sorry I shouldn't have let you-"

"No."

"No?"

"You heard me." Aziraphale struggled to his feet and looked down at Crowley, not out of some perceived moral superiority, but rather he was standing and the latter was not. "This isn't your fault, my dear. I knew something was wrong, I knew the risks, but I didn't want to worry you and here we are. I shouldn't have said anything. I put you in danger." Aziraphale was hiding his pain, not well mind you, but Crowley knew he wouldn't share if he asked. Aziraphale reached down and pulled him up and close to his chest. Now, it would seem, Crowley looked down upon Aziraphale... with longing perhaps. 

"Angel, I don't want you to be put through anything like that again. Ever." Crowley whispered into the air, testing the words, letting them slip into existence. 

A week had passed since then, Aziraphale hadn't responded to Crowley's statement, and he wasn't the same, either. More distant, perhaps, or maybe a little too blatantly staring into space at times, or possibly just disinterested in things that used to delight him. These hadn't gone unnoticed. Crowley turned these thoughts around and around in his head, like a demented carousel, while he sat on the couch with an arm draped around the angel, listening to a record spin softly.

"Crowley." Aziraphale's voice was quiet and the music washed over both their ears, almost as if he hadn't spoken at all. His eyes were cast downward and he tensed ever so slightly under the demon's arm. "What they did to me."

Crowley's heart stopped, not that he needed it per se (in the literal sense), he didn't push the subject in the week that followed. he wouldn't have pushed the subject in an eternity if it took that long, but that certainly didn't mean he didn't want to know. He had mused on so many uncertainties and he hated them all.

"It was terrifying," Aziraphale continued. "They made me... made me feel as though I'd never see you again. Oh, I hope that doesn't sound silly." He paused and faltered between his words, making each one deliberate, they felt like gunshots shattering and ripping at Crowley's very soul. "It's just I- well I-" He sighed and stopped again. With a shaky breath, he got up and looked directly into Crowley's eyes. "Please don't laugh, just let me say this once."

Crowley's sunglasses crumbled into dust so his eyes were fully in view and the demon pulled himself upright on the couch, returning the gaze.

"I- I love you, Crowley. I love you so much and I couldn't bear the thought of losing you. They... they made me think it was over, all of it." Tears were streaming down his face now but he paid them no mind. "That you went to Alpha Centauri and I was here, alone. I'm sorry this is such a foolish thing to get worked up over but I-"

Crowley cupped the angel's chin and stood, pulling him close as he did. "I'd never leave you. I would follow you to the ends of the universe. Nothing. Nothing," he emphasized each part of the word "will separate us again, my angel."

They began to slowly rock back and forth to the music. The record never seemed to stop and they danced through the night, they didn't need to sleep, after all. They tried to waltz, it was a particularly clumsy one and it wouldn't win any awards but try telling two supernatural entities that had eyes for nothing but each other that.

"Oh, angel." Aziraphale rested his head under Crowley's chin, feeling the rumble as he spoke and closed his eyes as they danced. "I may not be the best at my job but I can guarantee that no prophecies, no Antichrists, no Upper or Lower management will bother us again. With my entire being, angel, I love you too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the end, thank you very much for reading. I'm going to be making a collection of Good Omens one shots soon, so if you have any headcanons or ideas you'd like me to take a shot at, send me an ask on my side blog on Tumblr @briarthicket


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